What You Own
by RosylaGypsy
Summary: Justin is settling into his new home, and Austin is helping him unpack. Not a lot of actual unpacking is accomplished.


_A/N: Um yeah. I swore I wouldn't do fic for this. I really shouldn't say things like that. Anyway, this fic contains gratuituous RENT references. For those of you who don't know, it's a rock-opera musical about living live to the fullest, finding love in spite of adversity, and staying true to your beliefs regardless of what society says. Appropriate, yes? Also, the title comes from one of the songs, sung by Mark and Roger. Also, a note on Austin: because the plot was all from Justin's POV, we didn't get to see much about how Austin dealt with things, or how he felt about being in a relationship with a guy, or anything. So I took liberties, particularly regarding his family. I don't know if that's what other people have in mind but this is just my interpretation. I'd love to hear your thoughts on him though :D_

_So anyway, Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Ugly Betty, Justin, or Austin. I also don't own RENT. Or, um. Christina Aguilera or Lady Gaga._

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What You Own

The new house was nice. Bigger than their old one, even cluttered with cardboard boxes still waiting to be unpacked. Best of all, it had two bathrooms, and Justin was ecstatic about being able to spread out his skin and hair products without fear of his Mom mixing them up with hers for once.

Austin, of course, was their first guest, and dutifully complimented the new Suarez-Talercio home. Though to be honest he kind of missed their old place in Queens, and its bright, cozy, outdated décor, which was sort of stupid since it wasn't _his_ place. But that was Justin's family – the kind that welcomed you so completely and overwhelmingly that sometimes he felt more like a newlywed husband than a first boyfriend. It was a little confronting at first, but he'd quickly grown to like it.

Predictably, he managed to get roped into helping unpack everything. But with Hilda and Bobby out shopping for coffee tables (Justin had ultimately decided to trust them on this, though not before meticulously going through the CopperArt catalogue with a highlighter and sticky notes), and an afternoon alone with Justin and Justin's stuff, Austin wasn't about to complain.

At least, not seriously.

"So, remind me. Am I your boyfriend, or just your manual labour?" he asked as he entered Justin's new bedroom, his arms loaded with boxes.

The Latino boy looked up from where he was sorting stuff, and his lips quirked into a grin. "Better. You're my manual labour on speed dial," he teased. On his desk, his laptop was open and playing the soundtrack to _RENT_. Austin slid it over to make room for one box, while the other was dumped unceremoniously on Justin's bed.

"Oh, you're hilarious," he said, stretching out his arms and wincing at the twinge in his biceps. "Anyway, that looks like the last of yours'."

"Cool, thanks."

"You have _way_ too many material possessions, you know that?"

"And that's a bad thing?" He shoved a pile of things out of the way to make room for Austin. Obligingly, the other boy scooted in close, enjoying the easy way Justin leaned into him slightly.

"So where's all this stuff gonna go?" he asked. The 'stuff' in question seemed to be a weird mix of old plastic toys, tattered photos, and programs for various Broadway shows. He picked up one for _The Lion King_ and started flipping through it.

"I have no idea. In fact, I think I put half these things in the charity store pile. Mom must have snuck them back in while I wasn't looking."

Austin chuckled and set the program aside to pick up a chunky plastic microphone. He pressed the button on the side and it emitted a feeble, static-y tune. "Cute."

Justin snatched it back, looking faintly embarrassed. "I got that for my fifth birthday. It used to play Christina Aguilera songs."

"Christina Aguilera?"

"Oh come on, I was five. She was the Lady Gaga of my time." He tapped his fingers idly against the toy microphone to the beat of _Tango Maureen_. "It was kind of my favourite thing ever," he admitted.

"Yeah, you got the cool mike while the rest of us deprived kids had to make do with a boom box and Mom's hair brush."

Justin raised an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?"

"Well, no, but my sister did. Still does, actually, when she thinks no one else is home, but don't tell her I said that."

"If I ever, _ever_ eventually meet your sister, I'll make sure to not bring it up." He dug his elbow pointedly into Austin's side. "Speaking of which . . ?"

"Oh, right." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Well, I'd invite you round more often, but they're never home anyway, and it's so much cooler hanging out here. My family's kinda boring, really. Not like yours'. You know."

There was a rather awkward silence in which Austin regretted every stupid word he'd just stammered.

"If you don't want me to meet them, you can just say," Justin said flatly, grabbing the nearest pile of photos and unnecessarily straightening them. "I mean, I get it. You don't have to make excuses."

"What? No! Really, that's not it at all. Hey," He touched Justin's arm and ducked his head to make eye contact. "I'm not ashamed of you. At all. I promise."

"I know you're not. But that doesn't mean it's not . . . hard. I understand if you want to keep it a secret from them."

"It's not even that," he insisted, frustrated at not being able to explain himself. He really should have thought about this more, since it was only a matter of time before Justin got over his own insecurities and thought about why Austin didn't seem to have any, or why he seemed to spend more time with Justin's family than his own. "It's just. Look, you and your folks are really close, right? And that's awesome, 'cause it means you care about what they think, and they really care about you. Whereas mine . . . well it's not that they don't care about me, it's just that they'd probably be all like, 'Oh, you're gay? That's nice. Don't burn the house down while we're out.'

There was a short pause as Justin processed this. "Soooo, you're saying that you don't want to tell them because you're scared that instead of them reacting negatively, they just won't react at all?"

"Well, when you put it like that it sounds stupid," he muttered. "It's just that . . . you're a big deal for me, Justin. I just know they wouldn't appreciate you, and they definitely wouldn't welcome you like your family does for me." He looked down, frowning. "God, I sound selfish. I'm sorry."

They fell into silence. After a few moments' contemplation, Justin said thoughtfully, "No, it's ok. There's a big difference between acceptance and apathy, I guess." He curled his fingers around Austin's hand, prompting the other boy to look up and see his smile. "It's sweet that you don't want me to feel bad, but you know, I don't need a welcome wagon or anything."

Austin grinned and squeezed his hand. "Yeah but you deserve one. And you'd _like_ one."

"Would not!"

"You totally would."

"Well . . . maybe. So long as it wasn't covered with rainbows or anything." He shuddered, and Austin laughed at the idea. "But look; if, or when, you want me to come, I won't be offended or anything. And if you don't want me to ever come, that's fine too."

"Oh you will come. One day, when they all happen to be at home and I can figure out an appropriately shocking way to break the news."

"No rainbows," Justin said sternly.

"Ok, ok, no rainbows," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "So, we're good?" he asked, needing to make sure.

The other boy nodded. "Yeah. We're good." Then, as if to convince him, he leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

Austin smiled into the kiss, relieved and unbelievably happy to have someone like Justin. He'd had girlfriends before (well, two. Sort of. Did three make out sessions behind the gym count as a relationship?), but wouldn't call either of them a first love. He wasn't sure it was even about being gay, or Justin being a guy. He was just . . . Justin. Melodramatic, fashion-obsessed, smart, insightful and incredibly brave Justin Suarez. How could anyone _not_ fall in love with him? Austin was just lucky to have gotten there first.

They'd just started to move closer (taking it slowly, still a little unsure of things), when _I'll Cover You_ came on ITunes. Feeling kind of goofy and spontaneous, Austin got to his feet and held out a hand to his boyfriend. "Want to practice, for when we're eventually big Broadway stars?"

Justin rolled his eyes, grinning. "Dork. What makes you think _you're_ a star?" But he let himself be pulled up and twirled around a bit, careful to work around his junk littering the floor. "Anyway, we are so not Collins and Angel. I can't pull off a floral skirt."

"So who are we then?"

"Mark and Roger, of course!"

"The only two straight guys in the cast? Is that irony?"

"No, moron, it's _acting_. Besides, everyone knows Mark and Roger are totally in love."

"Well in that case, I like the analogy." Nonetheless, he found himself singing softly along to the music, smiling when Justin joined in. For the duration of that song, in the warm afternoon light that streamed through Justin's window (he still had to put curtains up, but neither of them cared much if anyone happened to look in), all he could think was _This is so much better than a hairbrush-microphone_.

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_Outtake_

"Hey Austin?"

"Hmm?"

"Why is there a sparkly rainbow banner falling out of that box?"

"Um, I dunno, it has your name on the lid so I thought . . ?"

" . . . _Oh_ my _GOD_, I am going to kill them."

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Thanks for reading!


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